Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. He walked unsteadily towards the door. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. ‘I thought as how it couldn’t do no harm, and as it turns out, it done me a bit of good. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. Nuns, I mean. Emile’s fist crashed into her temple and stars exploded in her vision.
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